Going undercover at Christmas

At a gathering in Gadsden a couple of months ago, I met several readers of my column who knew me only from the mug shot that appears in the Sunday paper.

At a gathering in Gadsden a couple of months ago, I met several readers of my column who knew me only from the mug shot that appears in the Sunday paper.When one straight-talking woman figured out who I was, she did not say, as some did, “I look forward to your column every Sunday.” She said, “Darrell Norman and Jimmy Smothers need a new picture for the paper.”Until now I have not shared this comment with my friend Jimmy, sports editor emeritus of The Gadsden Times. The picture that runs with his column may be a couple of years old, but I like it just fine and he probably feels the same way.My own mug shot was made in early 2006, when I changed roles from full-time reporter and columnist to just columnist. I’ll admit it does not look like the geezer you would see if we ran into each other at Walmart, but a new one might blow my cover.In the mug shot I am wearing glasses, my white beard is a bit long and my white hair comes down to my shoulders, in the style of Buffalo Bill. I got lens implants after cataract surgery, so I no longer wear glasses except for the tiny “readers” I wear low on my nose, in the style of Santa Claus.These days I keep my beard trimmed and although I still don’t have what dad called a “respectable” haircut, my hair barely reaches my collar. Both hair and beard are whiter (if that’s possible) than they appear in the newspaper. No glasses, shorter hair, trimmed beard. I see why some would say I need a new mug shot, and getting a new picture made would be simpler than going back to the way I used to look. Especially in this season.The staff at my daughter’s office was casting about for somebody who looked like Santa Claus, when one of her co-workers said, “Amber’s dad has white hair and beard, but he keeps them short at this time of year.” Daughter had revealed my yearly disguise.When I had Buffalo Bill hair and a beard that reached my chest, everybody called me Santa Claus, and after a while it grew wearisome.For several years my brother, Jack, who also has a white beard but a “respectable” haircut, was tickled to play Santa at the Ocean Opry in Panama City. With his red and white suit and booming “ho-ho-ho,” he was a hit with the audience every time.And there is my friend Dave. He grows his white beard long toward the end of the year so he can play Santa at several venues. After Christmas, he has the barber trim his beard and then keeps it short until Santa time approaches next year.I never deliberately played Santa, but that did not protect me from mistaken identity. Knowing the Santa comments would come as surely as “Little Drummer Boy,” I devised ways to respond.If a man wisecracked about where I parked the reindeer, I would straight-arm him with a reply that included the word what I was going to bring her for Christmas, I put on my leer and asked whether she had been naughty or nice, emphasis on the naughty.But a gentler self emerged when children mistook me for the great man. I would be pushing a cart down the cereal aisle and see a little wide-eyed girl hide behind her mother, whispering and pointing at me.Mom would say in an apologetic tone, “She thinks you are Santa Claus.”No time for a snappy comeback.I would bend down and say, “I’m not Santa, but I’m one of his helpers. Do you have a special wish for Christmas?” If she could overcome her shyness, the little girl would answer me. Mom would take mental notes and thank me. I would head on down the aisle, right proud of myself.As to whether I should get a new mug shot for the newspaper, as long as the editors don’t mind, I think I will stick with the old one, even if it does make me look like Santa Claus.Since some of the things I write earn me an invitation to get out of the state, perhaps it’s better if the critics don’t recognize me on the street.

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